I am mighty in the eveningwhen everything is goneexcept the past.the past is in me; present.

I am mighty when I send you wordshearing the thought glean its essence in the fade from right to wrongand love to heartachein the motion of lips into the soundI bless your thought too;though I have never met you.

Still, this is a greeting,for your tomb.

she speaks over the earth,like a fountaingiggling in her rush downwards to the sea

***

she isn't here

but I can feel her in my head,this dizzy weight.

Men feel the absence of a woman as this headache;suppurated under the scalp,little mountains pushing up from the salty waters

men know to construct a logic for the woman's absence;that though she is gone there is hope for her returnbecause he can feel her absence,and this sense is her

***

willful midnight and rainall the barky poems of youth, groaning to its musical party.

the black plague of educationand our bedfellows,nourishing the rot, and the reign of our games.

all the pretty things glow quietly at night,when we are tired,and the rush of the rain glows over my glasses,and we pretend.

I'll smile and slip under your cufflike a smoking prank under the hood of your carto remind you how glorious it is to laugh at your own misfortune

this game life plays on you,saying,once more,once more,once more

***

I won't gowhen I goI'll stay herewhen I gowhen you goI'll stay hereand say I was youI'll go as youand tell you to stayso I can go too.

I'll go with youwhen I stayso you can leaveby meand I'll know all the things you saw